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The Blowing Prophecy, a poem by Michael E. Strosahl

The Blowing Prophecy
by Michael E. Strosahl

Already the winds have chilled,
already the leaves
that waved through summer
have dried and come loose.
have been carried away
to the fields edge
to cackle with those who fell before,
to crackle stories
with the chaff of corn stalks
who warn of the coming harvest
that is sure to claim us all.

The fragile bones of
unshielded bean pods
rattle as they shiver
in the cool of a breeze,
quaking with the rumble
of the trucks and combines
that will soon
thresh out the gold
grown from soil and sun
and cast off the dust
of shells and stems
to be blown across cleared land
as the blackbirds descend
to look for the forgotten—
those lost souls of autumn—
before they too are chased,
to flap away
on the zephyrs of November.

Michael E. Strosahl is originally from Moline, Illinois. After moving to Indiana, he joined several poetry groups and traveled the state meeting many members of the Poetry Society of Indiana, also serving on its board for several years. Maik (as he is known) has appeared in the print version of Flying Island, along with appearances in Tipton Poetry Journal, Bards Against Hunger projects, on buses, in museums and online at indianavoicejournal, poetrysuperhighway, projectagentorange and adaysencounter. He has recently relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri.